The Queen of Necrofia
by Glitter and Kisses
Summary: When a friend arrives on your doorstep at her weakest, covered in blood and crying for her dead baby, she wants to be comforted, right? Wrong. She wants sense knocked into her. Ancient Egypt Dollshipping. I don't like this one. Leaving it up for Kinakao.


**WARNINGS: Blood, mentions of murder of a child, mentions of murder of multiple adults, mentions of sex, mentions of domestic violence, mild alcohol consumption, mentions of suicide. First person. That should cover it.**

_For Kinakao, because I've yet to dedicate anything to you and you've been incredibly supportive. I only wish it was not classified under "tragedy."_

The Queen of Necrofia

_I really wish these snakes were your arms._

I'd have liked to say it began as a typical night, but in all honesty, no night was anything close to normal for me. I sat down with a glass of diluted arak, the gears of my mind churning with plans to defeat the pharaoh, to take the royal family down bit by bit. It was all that ever ran through my mind when I wasn't enjoying the thrill of thievery. I'd admit it was a borderline obsession, but in all sense of conviction, if I wasn't obsessed, I would have never gotten anywhere. So there I was, obsessing away when a knock at the door ungraciously ripped my thoughts from my mind.

Usually a knock would have put me on the defense, being one of the most wanted men in Egypt, but it was a frail, soft series of raps; somewhat uncertain of itself, seemingly coming from a small hand with abused knuckles. Soundless footsteps, soundless from years of practice and the natural instinct of a thief, brought me to the door. Hesitantly, (on my guard) I opened it, completely unprepared for the sight in front of me.

She was shaking, shivering, hyperventilating; straight black hair that was always pulled tightly away from her face hanging a disheveled mess—her delicate, elegant face which should not have been red and contorted the way it was at the moment—and the moment I stepped forward her slender fingers gripped my arms with a bruising strength. She looked into my eyes with her piercing gold (usually narrowed in graceful distaste), thin lips twisted into an irrational snarl. Her whole expression was enraged and animalistic, something so unnatural to her, and even her voice was raspy and uncontrolled when a hollow scream was directed unforgivingly at my face:

"I WANT MY BABY!"

With that, she cried out and buried her face into my chest, shaking violently. Oh Ra, was she… crying? No. Oh no. I did not do _crying_. During my entire career as the King of Thieves, I had seen my fair share of oddities and learned how to handle them, but I had never learned how to deal with a crying woman. What was I supposed to _do_ with one? If she was crying, something was wrong, and therefore needed to be fixed, but until she could speak, nothing could be achieved. Not to mention I had no intention of handling other people's problems, so the whole situation in and of itself vexed me greatly.

"Come in." I ushered her inside, mostly because I didn't want to gain any attention, just enough for the door to close because it didn't seem like she was going to let go of me anytime soon. Her breathing was quickening and pitchy and I could tell words were trying to be formed, and at this rate, she would pass out. "Breathe." I held her face in my hands and forced her to look at me. "Slow down!" I must have been too harsh, which was never usually a problem, but from the look in her eyes I could tell she didn't need it. "In through your nose, out through your mouth, like you're running." She nodded painfully and tried, slowing down a little. "Now stop crying and tell me what happened."

"I- I- I- They-" She waved her hands in front of her face to cool herself down. I had never seen her anything _close_ to this flustered. She was always one to carry herself with a deadly composure, with a sharp tongue to match. But in that terrifying moment it was all lost in maternal agony, as her face twisted horridly, canines bared and eyes boring holes through my skin in a screech of anguish: "THEY. KILLED. MY. BABY!"

And with that her grip tightened and she was sobbing into my chest again. I could feel a wetness against my arms, and my first instinct was to think tears, but it didn't make anatomical sense. I looked down and - though I should have been horrified, I wasn't - noticed her hands were soaked in blood, past her elbows and splattered across her dress. _Oh goodness._ Because I didn't know anything about being a mother but I knew plenty about losing family, and could only fathom how she was feeling. No wonder she was crying.

"Sit," I ordered, and she nodded, drying her eyes the back of a bloody hand, smearing it on her nose, staining the glass of arak I handed her to calm her nerves. Left a lipstick mark on it when she removed her lips with a soft sound.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice raspy. "I never wanted you to see me like this."

"You shouldn't let me," I told her unforgivingly. "Don't you have any self-respect?"

She glared at me (and that was rather comforting, seeing the young woman I knew through the tear-streaked face). "I just don't think I should be alone right now. I don't trust myself." And had I been wiser, I might have realized that her decision to come to me was not an act of weakness but rather one of intelligence and self-reflection. She hadn't sought me out of desperation, but had pushed her pride aside because she was aware enough to understand her limits. It would take thousands of years and duel after duel for me to comprehend her true nature and give her due credit.

"Tell me what happened? Who do I need to kill?" The last phrase surprised me as it escaped my lips, but in the end she was like family to me, and I did have the intention of supporting her to a certain degree. I had met her when I was still a child and my father took me to the neighboring village, to do business with her father. Upon meeting me, she made a rude remark at my odd color of hair. I told her to get back to her dolls, and somehow our antagonistic introduction cumulated in a fistfight. (I _will_ say she was the one who initiated it, because I was taught to never hit a girl.)

It was on the way back home that I decided I was in love.

Of course I grew disillusioned, skeptic of foolish concepts like love, but trust and even friendship were still a rare part of my vocabulary. I cared about her, though I admit that it was only because of our childhood friendship. Had I met her post-Kul Elna, I would have hated her and never even given her a second thought. Isn't it funny how humans work?

"I killed them," she informed me, smiling in a twisted manner. "I killed them all."

"Killed who? Why are you crying, then?"

"Necrofia." The world slipped off her tongue like poison. Necrofia, the top-secret organizations of Egypt's most elite necromancers. She had joined back when she was still carrying the child within her, when her bastard of a husband became even more violent and then somehow mysteriously disappeared. I'd bet my title she finally snapped and just killed him and hid the body. Not that I blamed her; it was something I'd wanted to do the day I saw him, since the day I snuck into her wedding and heard her say her vows. Her voice itself made it clear she was not a woman to be possessed. He was all a merchant's daughter could get; her parents barely had enough for a dowry; just a nameless, faceless man with dirt in his nails, and I didn't want to imagine the way his undeserving hands would touch her that night. (Because those should have been _my_ hands.)

"You killed all of Necrofia?" I asked incredulously. She nodded, laughing irrationally. She was the first woman to be accepted, and since then I had called her "Miss Necrofia" in jest. That would have to change, I assumed.

"They killed my baby, so I killed them all." She smiled crookedly. "They weren't expecting it. Too easy when they're not on guard. Quite pretty when they're dead."

So maybe it was a good thing she wasn't alone. I would hate to see her loose on the streets. No, I take that back; if it was anyone on the Pharaoh's side, I would have been delighted to watch her go crazy on them. Though, knowing her, she would probably kill and keep a straight face.

"Why the hell would they kill your child? You're on their side, no?"

"Conflict of interest," she said-matter-of-factly, but I could tell she was a ravaging ocean on the inside. She took another sip of arak, and I could see that her hands were shaking. I knew how these secret organizations worked. Of course there was some dirty business involved. My reasons for choosing to work alone and live outside the law: so not to deal with this. Perhaps had she been the Queen of Necrofia, not just a member, she would have avoided this the same way I never had to worry as the King of Thieves. Perhaps now that she had killed them all, she was the Queen of Necrofia.

"Oh Ra, don't start crying again. You've already killed them, why are you crying?" I could feel my nerves flaring up, because I needed to be in control and her crying was not something I could control. She kept her head down so I wouldn't see, and just shook her head.

"Because I'm a woman!" she choked out. "Ra, you're horrible at this! My baby is dead, and killing them didn't bring him back, and maybe Ra-damn-it I'm at my rope's end and I just need to let it out!" I should have listened to those words and learned that revenge fixes nothing, that instead of continuing with my quest in destruction I should have focused on my own personal healing. Of course I didn't.

"That makes absolutely no sense! What the hell do you want me to do, then?"

She just shook her head again, drinking even more and I was beginning to wonder if alcohol was the best solution to the problem. Stared at the little red lines from her smeared lipstick. She was trembling, refusing to give in and admit that she just needed to be held and comforted, another thing I wouldn't learn about women until spending five thousand years interacting with them. Good thing I was instinctive enough, power-hungry and dominating and self-centered enough to follow my will and hold her possessively against me. Maybe because there was something delicious about having this creature of darkness, who always seemed so powerful and dominating, so broken and fragile in my arms.

I was wrong to imagine she was anything close to fragile. Broken, maybe for the moment, but never fragile.

She had too much pride to lean into me now, having already had her previous outburst, and just covered her face with one hand, downing the arak with the other. At that point I realized my state of affairs: I was going to spend the remainder of the night comforting a drunk, bloodsoaked, mourning mother who had it in her to kill a whole organization of men. Any other man in Egypt may or may not have been delighted; I found myself slightly annoyed.

"I want him back… I want my baby back…"

And now it was back to the baby. This would be a long night. I forced myself to remember how she convinced her family to take me in for a few days after the destruction of Kul Elna. I couldn't tell them what had happened; I was supposed to be dead. I won't say she was often there, but she was the only one there. She was the one who sometimes snuck me medicine from her medicine-man father's supplies when I was sick because it was too difficult for a beginner to steal; the one who sometimes snuck out kept me company when I missed my family. All trivialities, but important to me when I was a child. She'd seen me at my worst and best, and had accepted me. I owed her. It was on my honor.

She seemed to be responsive to comfort, which I wouldn't have expected from her, but it was working. It was more an experiment than anything; stroking her hair and holding her close seemed to calm her down. Anything to stop the crying, my Ra! How did married men do it?

"Shh… it's going to be okay." I didn't mean a word of it, but it was what she wanted to hear, and she nodded, and the crying was subsiding again (but who knew for how long?).

"'Kura…" Oh Ra. 'Kura. I had told her many times I hated it when she called me that. I did not want to be trivialized with nicknames, but I knew better than to open my mouth. Who knew, she might try to kill me too. "'Kura. I feel so empty." She couldn't articulate it at the time, but it was an understandable feeling: as a mother, her life was taken away with her child; as a necromancer, she couldn't practice anymore (for both legal and emotional reasons); as a woman, she still belonged to that horrible man. I still couldn't get over him, how when I came to visit her, her sleeve tore off on the doorhinge and I saw the bruises. She always carried herself with posture and grace even when she was going through that. Ra knows she gave him a fair set of bruises to match.

"Please, snap out of this." I could only be a comforting person for so long. It definitely wasn't in my nature. "Come on." I shook her and made her look at me again. "Where's the Necro I know? Always so strong and levelheaded and deadly?"

She sighed. "I don't think you can call me that anymore. I'm out of work for now."

"And I hate it when you call me 'Kura, so we're even."

She smacked my arm lightly, smiling sadly. "You have no idea how to deal with this, do you?"

"No, no I don't. This is why you should have gone to a brothel, because I'm sure the whores around here hear the craziest stories. And they're women, and they know how to deal with this. I hope you're not expecting me to be nice and fluffy."

"Oh, I'm not," she assured. "I came here because I know I need you to knock some sense back into me."

Oh. She was smart. Even in anguish she was smart. She could have gone to some more dramatic people aka whores to validate her suffering but instead she chose the more practical and unforgiving option. How very like her. And how very like her to come here for sense but still want comfort. Women.

"Shit." She put a hand to her forehead. "I shouldn't have drunk that much. It's going to be a bitch, walking home."

"Oh, you're not leaving," I told her. "It's dark outside, who knows what could happen to you?"

"'Kura, I just killed a bunch of men in one night, I can handle myself. You of all people should know that."

"Not when you're drunk and emotional. You're staying here." I sighed. "If you're worried about me having any respect for you, I've lost it all already and there's nothing you could possibly do to make it worse." Honestly it would have been good riddance, but I didn't want to lose another person. I wouldn't risk it. Not the woman who would help me speak to my family once I put their ghosts to rest. Actually speak to them through necromancy, not listen to wails begging for revenge.

"You're an asshole," she told me. "But no, you shouldn't be comforting. It'll only keep me emotional. I need you to be strict and tough and masculine so I can get my shit back together." It was the worst thing I could do. I should have made her cry it out, but that was never the way I handled things. I hadn't cried in years, I had never properly mourned Kul Elna. So it seemed fine to me that she push her tragedy aside. Maybe had I forced her to mourn, she would have found rest, unlike me. She wouldn't have become a wandering, restless spirit, a bitter doll with the child in her arms. But no matter, she would be a formidable ally in my modern-day fight with the pharaoh.

"Then stop crying," I said seriously. "You're not allowed to cry. You're not going to think of anything relating to the matter. You've already achieved your revenge, so you're not allowed to ruminate the tragedy." I gripped her shoulders. "You are the Queen of Necrofia. You are hardcore and tough and stoic and unemotional and you are going to prove it to me! Starting now until forever! Are we clear?"

"But what can I do?" She punched the seat next to her leg. "I can't practice my magic, and that's all I have!"

I was tempted to give her more arak, but knew that might make her more emotional and irrational. "For now, nothing. I'm not responsible for every detail of you. But tomorrow, I'm robbing a tomb and I think it would do you good to watch. You should consider becoming a thief. Though no one will ever become as good as me."

She shook her head. "Not my thing, but I'll go." She stood up. "I've already embarrassed myself enough; I really should leave. I've only had one drink, I'll be fine. I'm covered in blood, no one will approach me. I'll just come back tomorrow, when you don't have to see me like this."

I didn't understand. How she knew I would see her like this, but yet she still came to me, and not anyone sympathetic, because she was knew I was the only one to put her back on track. And yet she was ashamed of me seeing her like this. It was strange, really how humans worked; how as children we had no problems showing our weaknesses, but even to the same people, now that we were adults, we felt embarassed to. It made no sense, but watching her walk to the door seemed like it took an eternity. She still stood up perfectly straight, still feline in her movements, golden eyes narrowed like a hawk. Even in her weakness she looked deadly. Watching her slender yet strong body move under clothes, the delicate features of her face… I always knew I was too possessive for my own good, and I wasn't about to let treasure walk out my front door.

The next thing I knew, I had her pinned against it, lips crashing into hers.

Oh Ra, I should really control my impulses.

Impulses I'd had for a very long time.

(It's okay, though, I'd find Zork for that. He'd fix all my human flaws just fine.)

I broke away quickly, though I didn't want to, just because I figured it was the last thing she needed. More emotions. But I'd say we were pretty even; she _did_ come into my residence and made me watch her cry for a good hour or two.

"What was _that_?" she asked, completely dumbstruck.

"Something for you to think about, instead of everything else," I smirked.

"'Kura." She said it so seriously, finger gently touching her lip.

"Necro?" I replied, amused.

"Nothing." She opened the door and turned around, and I could tell she wasn't going to be alright. "Thank you."

She stepped out into the night. I should have stopped her. I should have held her by the wrist and kept her here and listened to her crying. Hell, I should have just intoxicated her to the point of immobility. I should have known that the last thing she needed was some sense knocked into her, because there was no way she was going to think straight after watching her son killed. I should have just held her like she was the most precious thing I ever had; I should have taken her to bed and kissed every inch of her and stolen her away from that bastard. (A woman always belonged to her first, by tradition, but they didn't call me the Thief King for nothing.)

But I didn't.

It was the last time I saw her as a human. She didn't come the next day for our tomb-robbing appointment, and I thought nothing of it until the day after. She had been rotting for nearly three days on the kitchen floor, throat slit, knife in hand. I knew I would never forget that image, or the faint smell of death emitting from her corpse. I buried her body in silence, and then forced myself to get on with my life.

After all, if I didn't lose her, it wouldn't have been right. I was so used to losing everything precious to me; if something didn't end up that way, it would be… strange.

When I met her again, I had almost forgotten her. It was during my trip to the graveyard, after Yadonushi had pulled that stunt back at Battle City and somehow got me on the playing field, to have one of the Pharaoh's allies attack me.

She was perfect. A doll, because she hated her humanity. Blue: the color of skin in the moonlight; in armor, because she always complained about how non-functional female clothing was. I'd say she bound her chest at some point; it's amazing she didn't break her ribs with the bandages. And the doll in her arms; the dead baby. She was just… there, expressionless in a black glow of energy. It was the woman I knew, in all her strength. Not a sign of weakness. Beautiful.

"Hello, 'Kura." Same voice. It struck something in me, or it would have, had I not been filled to the brim by Zork.

"Do you hate me for it?" I asked immediately.

"Of course not." The alto of her voice vibrated slightly. "You gave me exactly what I asked for. And what do you ask for?"

"Revenge."

"I won't let you down."

I shouldn't have been happy to see her not-at-rest. Or at least I should have embraced her like an old friend, not stood beside her, analyzing of what benefit she would be to me. But of course I did; I treated her like a card and not a person.

And she let me.

And in that final battle, when the Pharaoh finally destroyed Zork, and destroyed me…

…I had the nerve to wonder why she wasn't there to catch me when I fell.

Fin

* * *

><p>AN: I know I've written a lot of dollshipping, but I needed to get this off my chest. (I've never written first person like this before, so I'm a bit nervous.)

1-Arak: It's a Middle Eastern alcoholic drink. I don't know if they have it in Egypt or even back then, but hey, it's close enough. I don't care for precise historical accuracy.

2-In one translation, Japanese maybe, her card reads Dark Necrofia.

3-Binding: Girls (and maybe boys for some reason?), if you want to bind your chest, the only safe way to do it is with a professional binder. Ace bandages and duct tape will _break your ribs_. I don't care what Lady Gaga did, it's unhealthy.

4-If your friend is suicidal, talk to an authority and _get him/her help_. It's better to have your friend alive and upset with you for "telling" about their "suicidal-ness" than dead and happy.

5-If your friend is suicidal, do not intoxicate them to immobility. Bakura has bad ideas, do not listen to all of them!

6-Background story: The other day, my hallmate came pounding on my door around midnight, literally hyperventilating (and I had never seen anyone actually hyperventilate before). She screamed that she wanted her baby back, and it was a moment I'll never forget. Her boyfriend had just broken up with her and she'd found out she'd miscarried his baby, and she was just a wreck. She kept saying she wanted to kill herself; it was a lot darker and scarier than typical breakup talk. I stayed up with her and held her and made sure she stayed alive until the advisor came in. Now she's getting professional help, but it was a shocking episode. And inspiration came.

Please review, I would really appreciate it! (And please review the story, not the A/N, I don't get why people do that…)


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